


Recollections of an ex-Archivist and the Coroner

by advanced_fanatic



Series: Bungou Stray Archives [13]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast), 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, BE GRATEFUL, Bad Ending, Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Torture, Major Character Injury, Mentioned Akutagawa Ryuunosuke (Bungou Stray Dogs), Mentioned Izumi Kyouka (Bungou Stray Dogs), Not A Fix-It, Poor Kunikida Doppo (Bungou Stray Dogs), Poor Life Choices, Sorry Not Sorry, The End, The Stranger - Freeform, and we love her for it, i didn't go into detail on the gore, this series wasn't going to be fluffy forever, tma is a horror podcast guys, yosano akiko is a badass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:54:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26471470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/advanced_fanatic/pseuds/advanced_fanatic
Summary: Fukuzawa and Yosano, as they leave their old lives behind.
Relationships: Edogawa Ranpo & Fukuzawa Yukichi (Bungou Stray Dogs), Kunikida Doppo & Yosano Akiko (Bungou Stray Dogs), Lucy Maud Montgomery & Tachihara Michizou's Brother (Bungou Stray Dogs), Tachihara Michizou & Tachihara Michizou's Brother (Bungou Stray Dogs), Tachihara Michizou's Brother & Yosano Akiko (Bungou Stray Dogs)
Series: Bungou Stray Archives [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1740364
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	Recollections of an ex-Archivist and the Coroner

Almost as soon as he was cleared for travel, Fukuzawa accompanied Ranpo back to the United States. It was different, traveling blind; in his years as Archivist he had flown all over the world, but for the first time, he couldn’t see where he was going. He felt the plane move, of course, but his sight and his Sight were gone. The world was muffled, and quiet, and peaceful.

That is, until Ranpo tried to get him to play a trivia game and he had to remind him that not only could he no longer  _ see _ , but he was also no longer connected to the Eye so he couldn’t draw on its plethora of knowledge either.

“I’m pouting,” Ranpo declared. “Also, we should test to see how much of the information the Eye gave you you remember. Like the languages thing, the Archivist’s proficiency in every language under the sun. How much of that do you still have?”

“Only Japanese and English, I believe,” Fukuzawa told him. “The languages that I learned naturally.”

“How do you know for sure?  _ Sprechen Sie Deutsch _ ?”

“Because I’m not connected to the Eye anymore, and anything it gave me, I’ve lost,” Fukuzawa said dryly. “That’s the price for gouging my own eyes out.”

“So it was you. I had wondered,” Ranpo said. “Yosano thought it was a failed attempt at the Watcher’s Crown, but I didn’t think you would have failed, had you tried it. I thought you would have done your best to stop it.”

Fukuzawa nodded. “I did, I meant to sever the Archives from the Institute. According to Mori, the Watcher’s Crown hinges on the transformation of Archivist to Archive, as it opens the door between worlds to let the Fears in. I had collected the last of my fourteen marks that day.”

“The Spiral, right? Because you were listening to Dazai’s Statement, and you decided to actually see if his theory had been correct.”

“Exactly. It had been keeping a door in my office, and I went to investigate. It stabbed me, and told me that I could start the Watcher’s Crown now, if I wanted. I believe it thought it was helping me, doing me a favor for remembering the original Dazai Osamu.”

“That checks out,” Ranpo said. “I’m nodding, by the way. You listened to his Statement every night, right?”

“Correct.”

“So what happened next? After you got stabbed by Distortion-Dazai and acquired your Spiral mark.”

“It was surprised that I didn’t know what the Watcher’s Crown was, so it brought me back to my office and enticed Mori down. I’m not sure whether it was the doors that papered his office walls or the fact that Dazai had started eating Statements, but he came down fairly quickly after that. He explained the ritual--again, I think Dazai eating Statements went a long way towards convincing him to say as much as he did--and we both said some rather unfortunate things. Once I realized that it was not something I wanted the three of you to have to bother with, I excused myself and sent you home for the day.”

“I didn’t know something was up,” Ranpo said, sounding miserable. “I mean, I knew you were fighting with someone, but I didn’t think it was  _ important _ . Because you were the Archivist and you were in your Archive and I knew you were growing more powerful every day. I didn’t think anything could hurt you.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Fukuzawa told him. “I sent you all away. And then I told Mori that if I had become the Archive, then I would remove it from the Magnus Institute. He said that no matter how far I ran, I would never escape the Eye. Dazai contested that, saying that it had done well in becoming the Distortion and wasn’t a piece of the Eye anymore. It then said that it was possible to quit the Archives by blinding yourself, and that it had been seriously considering doing so for a while, although it never went through with it. It mentioned that that would completely cut one off from the Eye. And then I said, well, I  _ am _ the Archive, and I went out to the desk at the door, where we sit the written Statement-givers, and I took a knife, and I carved each of my eyes out. Mori was cursing, but Dazai was holding him back and laughing, and the last thing I felt before I lost consciousness was its fingers entering my occipital lobe.”

“The doctors said your brain was intact, though,” Ranpo said. 

Fukuzawa shrugged. “I don’t know. I do know that the last piece of Knowledge that I received was that it was gone. Perhaps Dazai messed with the tests.”

“I wouldn’t put it past it.” Ranpo hummed. “Kunikida would have been glad to know this. He was torturing himself trying to figure out what happened.”

“You weren’t?”

“I knew I’d find out eventually. One of the effects of spending your life with an avatar of the End--you learn to believe in inevitability.”

“I suppose you do.” Fukuzawa paused. “I hope her business goes well. I don’t need any Eyes to know how painful it will be for them both.”

“It’ll be alright,” said Ranpo. “After all, Archival Assistants are more than enough to stop a ritual, even without their Archivist. They’re always doomed to fail on their lonesome.”

Fukuzawa nodded. “But any fate is only caused by our actions.”

“And the Assistants will act.” Fukuzawa couldn’t see him, but he was sure Ranpo was smiling bitterly. “She’s no Web, but I don’t think Yosano will give them much choice.”

  
  
  


Yosano Akiko walked into the Greater Yarmouth Wax Museum. Her eyes were a dark void, although it was still clear where, exactly, her single-minded focus was located: a single door, locked tightly, guarded by the Toy Soldier. It stiffened at the dark aura that radiated from her, but didn’t move from the door. She smiled, slow, predatory.

“My mistress set me to guard this door. You may not enter,” it told her.

“I can wait,” she told it. “You’ll let me in eventually.”

“I won’t.”

“Everyone does. Eventually.” She bared her teeth into a dark grin.

“You’re from the End. Aren’t you.”

“Smart doll. Have we met before?” she asked. She doubted they had--the End didn’t have much to do with the Stranger and its ilk, try as they might to avoid it. Their whole schtick was things not making sense, and the End made plenty of sense. Too much, almost.

_ Too correct _ , her soldier whispered in her head, an echo of when she was smaller and younger and infinitely more human, and therefore fragile. Breakable. Those words had shattered her, once.

Now, she didn’t think that there was enough left of the girl Yosano Akiko once was to be broken.

“I think I would remember anyone as correct as you,” replied the Toy Soldier.

“Low blow,” she said, and was reminded at how small the remnants of her humanity were, as they cried out in pain at the reminder. “I hadn’t thought the Circus knew of  _ that _ part of my past.”

“What?” it asked, and it sounded genuinely confused. 

“Tachihara Kage. The Great War. Correctness. Who asked you to call me that? I’d like to have  _ words _ with them.” She grinned again, and it was like the grin of a skull, with no skin to mask the teeth. Every other member of the Circus suddenly found that they desperately needed to be somewhere else, and she saw the fear of death shiver over the Toy Soldier like a poisonous balm.

“Tachihara...Kage?” it repeated. “What?”

“My soldier,” she said, her voice like ice. “The first person to ever be kind to me. He was killed by the Circus fourteen years ago. ‘Correct’ is what he always called me. I was ‘too correct’. I’m impressed that you knew about it--knowledge, especially knowledge of other avatars, isn’t exactly the Stranger’s forte--even for Lucy Montgomery’s favored pet.”

The Toy Soldier’s stance shifted, slightly, staring at her in shock and confusion, and Yosano took advantage. She hadn’t been lying when she’d said she could wait, but inevitability was nothing without choices, and so she shouldered past the Toy Soldier and into the room where the Archivist, Kunikida Doppo, was tied tightly to a chair, grasping his Ideal notebook as if it could somehow protect him from the Stranger. The Toy Soldier let her, stepping out of her way almost gently before following her in.

“You--you were the girl in the opera house,” it said. “The girl with the butterfly pin, the angel of death.”

Yosano whirled around and pinned him with a dark glare. “Don’t call me that, or you’ll find that the inevitability of your death is much faster and much more painful than it otherwise would have been. I’m sure your mistress informed you that I have my fingers in all of the pies; with the Archivist right here, it would be easy to find whatever death you hate most and then dish it out to you.”

“I’m sorry,” said the Toy Soldier. And it truly did sound sorry, too, so Yosano barked out a harsh laugh.

“I see your mistress has taught you to grovel! Don’t apologize, you were just there for my metamorphosis--the turning point where I truly became something other than human. My soldier would have been disappointed, yes--but  _ you _ aren’t him.”

Luckily for the Toy Soldier, it was saved from having to respond by Lucy slamming the doors open. 

“What’s going on in here?!” it shouted. “Toy Soldier, you were  _ supposed _ to be guarding the door. Yosano, the Archivist is  _ ours _ , we need his skin for the Unknowing. You can’t take him.”

“I know,” Yosano said. “I’m not here to take him away.”

Behind her, the Archivist let out a low, broken moan, as if a last bit of hope he had had vanished. Yosano felt the tiniest twinge of guilt. She had loved him, once. She loved him, still, but her love did not come in the sort of form that plucked one away from fear and pain and death.

“What are you here for, then?” asked Lucy.

“I’m here for what remains of his body, after he’s dead. I’m here to accompany his passing. And I’m here to inform his soon-to-be ex-Assistants of his fate.”

Lucy frowned. “That’ll only hurt them.”

“They would know sooner or later. The sooner they learn, the better for me.”

“The more you’ll feed.”

Yosano shrugged one shoulder. “I suppose. I’m not a glutton for fear like the rest of you, though. My master is inevitable, and everyone will come to it, eventually. There will never come a time when death does not exist.”

“That’s fair,” Lucy said. “So, what, you want us to do the deed now?”

“I can wait,” Yosano replied. “I would like time alone with him if you don’t intend to do it now, but either is fine with me.”

Either was not fine with her. She loved Kunikida Doppo as she had loved few others in her life: a silver-haired Archivist, a childlike man with Eye tattoos on his joints and more Knowledge than was necessary, a soldier who swung her into the air and called her his angel and made her feel safe. She had already lost the soldier, had been unable to say goodbye. She hoped that she would be able to say goodbye to Kunikida.

“You won’t break him out,” Lucy said, narrowing its eyes at her.

“I won’t.”

Lucy stared at Yosano for a few more seconds, plastic eyes unblinking, before huffing and turning on her heel.

“You had better not. We need his skin for the Unknowing. Come on, Toy Soldier.”

“I would like to talk to her,” it said.

Yosano quirked an eyebrow. Apparently being the ringmaster’s favorite toy had given the Toy Soldier more benefits than she’d first thought.

“Tough nuts, she’s here for the Archivist. Come along.”

The Toy Soldier trailed after Lucy, looking back at Yosano one more time. She met its eyes fearlessly, and it broke first and closed the door. She turned and knelt by Kunikida, taking his hand.

“What are you doing here, if you aren’t rescuing me?” he murmured, voice hollow.

“Oh, Doppo,” she whispered, “of  _ course _ I’m rescuing you. It’s not like I have any other reason to visit the Circus.”

“But you said…”

“Yes. I’m here for your death. It’s the only way you’ll truly be free, Doppo. Mori has a ritual, the Watcher’s Crown, and the Archivist is the lynchpin. Shachou clawed out his own eyes to stop it, but Mori made a failsafe this time. Doppo, the only way to stop the Eye’s ritual is for you to die.”

He slumped in his ropes. “Would it really be so bad, that world? It’s only knowledge.”

“It’s never only knowledge,” she said, squeezing his hand. “But if you want, I can pass along a message.”

Lucy Montgomery and its Toy Soldier clearly didn’t trust Yosano as far as they could throw her. This was understandable, and Yosano sat next to Kunikida, criss-cross applesauce, squeezing his hand and resting her head on his arm as Lucy prepared the knife and the Archivist gasped again and again with fear. The Toy Soldier watched Yosano with something like curiosity, but she ignored it. She knew that this was inevitable, that this was what it had to do, but that didn’t stop her from hating it for causing her dear friend pain. Yosano Akiko had only ever loved four people in her life. Whatever the Toy Soldier once had been, now it was just the thing that caused Kunikida Doppo’s inevitable, and so Yosano hated it. She didn’t try to fight against it, though. She just held her dear friend’s hand and leaned her head on his arm and ignored the Toy Soldier. There would be plenty of time to hurt it later. She had the feeling that her ignoring it was hurting it now.

Lucy approached with the knife. “This won’t hurt,” it said.

“You’re lying,” whispered Kunikida.

The knife went down--the black veins twisted--and blood soaked into Yosano’s shirt and hair as she found herself holding a mess of viscera. She had to hand it to the Stranger--they worked fast. Kunikida hadn’t even had time to scream, and now he was dead.

Yosano stood, the remnants of Kunikida’s hand nearly coming off in hers. In the end, though, the muscle and bone held fast, and she sliced through the ropes holding him and scooped up his body. It wasn’t recognizable. It oozed and squished, and had it still been alive, she would have made him buy her a new outfit.

“I would say it was nice to meet you both, but it wasn’t,” she said sharply, and turned and left.

The wilderness club was less a group of feral young adults brawling and more a group of friends joking and tussling when Yosano stepped out of the woods, still soaked in Kunikida’s blood. She had kept the bones of the hand she had held when he died, and, for now at least, they were tied in a necklace around her neck. He would have complained that she was too devoted to her aesthetic. He would have known that all she’d wanted was something of his to hold onto, much in the same way she kept the butterfly pin in her hair, even now. Remnants of those she loved, gone to their inevitable End. Kunikida Doppo had begun to die the moment he was promoted to Archivist. All Yosano had done was speed up the process.

“Jesus fuck,” said Tachihara Michizou, standing next to the Toy Soldier, affection clear in his proximity. “Jesus  _ fuck _ !”

“The Archivist is dead,” she told them. “You former Assistants are no longer bound to the Institute. His skin will be used in the Unknowing. As far as I can see, at this point, it will go off without a hitch.”

“What?!” shouted Tachihara. He had always been the loudest. Kyouka preferred to be cold in her anger, and Atsushi to smell out the angles first. Tachihara shot first and asked questions later. “Who?! And how?!”

“The Toy Soldier held him down and Lucy Maud Montgomery held the knife. I stayed with him and buried his body.”

Atsushi sucked in air through his teeth, an angry gasp. Tachihara stared at the Toy Soldier in betrayed shock, so painfully human. Atsushi and Kyouka understood how everyone was bound to their Entities, at least. Tachihara still believed in choice. Tachihara would feel betrayed by this, and his anger would hurl itself at the Toy Soldier (whom it would hurt) and Lucy (who probably wouldn’t care).

Oh, revenge was sweet. Kunikida was dead. Kunikida had felt the pain of a sibling abandoning him to their own morals.

Now the Toy Soldier would feel the same.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry.


End file.
